


Many more Septembers

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Series: Life after the end of the world [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Mentioned amputation/permanent injury, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Past Violence, Slice of Life, an au where they left Alexandria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26362159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: The year's first chilly morning just before dawn makes Daryl think about the future.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Series: Life after the end of the world [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579510
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	Many more Septembers

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece of writing I have managed to complete in months. It's a major success for me because my writer's block was really fierce. Hopefully this is the first step to full recovery... I've got so many things in the works, so many things I need to finish. Please keep your fingers crossed for me, and enjoy this fluffy work :)
> 
> The story takes place some time after "Before the storm" and will address events from that one, so reading it first is recommended.

Daryl didn’t think he had a preference over something so mundane as the seasons, but as the days become shorter and the pre-dawn hours come with a distinct chill, he realizes he might have a favorite season after all. Maybe it’s because over the last few years before the world went to complete shit, he picked up lots of peaceful jobs out at various farms, during harvest and after. There always seemed to be stuff to do there before winter came, and Daryl was good to do whatever: picking up fruits, carrying crates around, fixing shit, he’d do what was needed and he got paid better than for whatever odd jobs he’d managed to score in town over the summer months. Plus the good farm folk down in Georgia didn’t seem to believe in letting workers go hungry, so he was always well-fed during the Fall months, and the cash he managed to save from not having to buy food would carry him over the winter and early spring before any other work opportunities arose.

So when for the first time since the fucking end of the world he actually has the time to sit down and process the changing of seasons all around him, Daryl realizes Fall is, indeed, his favorite. 

It’s different up here in Craig Point. They’re further north and in the mountains, so the first chilly morning arrives much earlier than it would’ve back in Georgia. It’s almost unexpected. Daryl’s lucky the evening shift left a couple of blankets bundled up in one of the chairs in the watchtower. If he caught a cold, he’d never live it down; Rick would force him to stay in bed for days, likely, and Daryl doesn’t think he’d like it very much.

Rick… is a protective bastard. Always has been, even before the two of them became a thing. That side of him might’ve been more subdued back in the time when the dead stayed dead, but Daryl won’t believe for a second it wasn’t there. It’s probably what drove Rick to become a cop in the first place; it was obviously never about some warped sense of power like many pigs Daryl’s known in his life, it wasn’t even about law and justice. Rick just wanted to protect the people he cared about, and that protection naturally extended to the whole neighborhood he lived in, to the whole town - because a safe town meant his family got to live in a safe place.

Then he got shot in the line of duty and fell into that coma. The outbreak happened while he slept, and he woke up to a new world where nobody was safe anymore.

Daryl imagines it had to have broken something inside the man’s brain. Something switched, and his protectiveness… well. It drove him into taking some extreme measures. Like killing his best friend when he became a danger to everyone. Like becoming a ruthless leader when the group was at its weakest, and fighting madmen bare-handed. Like tearing a man’s throat out with his teeth when that man’s gang threatened his son in the most horrible way.

… like gathering the family to hit the road again, to abandon the illusion of safety behind the walls of Alexandria, even as he was weak and feverish from the loss of the arm he sacrificed to yet another madman with too much ego who came to destroy their hard-won peace.

Nowadays, there are far less dangers in all their lives. There are hundreds of miles between them and that psycho, and there’s no way Negan can ever get past their defences even if he ever finds Craig Point. They’ve got the wall with several watchtowers, the inner fence, the electric fence behind it, and then the so-called inner sanctum fence, all to keep them safe from the outside world. They’re armed and prepared. Nobody can ambush them here.

This place is their safe haven, their paradise, no matter how naive it may sound. They’ve got electricity: solar panels on most buildings, a modest wind farm on the other side of the creek, and if all else fails, there are a couple of back-up oil generators. They have chickens, cows, horses, a whole herd of sheep and those funny llamas or whatever they are. Of course, since it’s a farm, there are the produce fields, and a small orchard. The thing is, they’re sustainable here. Only some of them ever need to go out for additional supplies or on recruitment runs, all of them but the old group hand-picked and thoroughly trained by Daryl himself. They don’t lose people anymore. In the years since Alexandria, they’ve all learned to assess the risks better, to know when to give up, to decide if the possible spoils are worth the potential sacrifices. 

Daryl feels safe in the knowledge that Rick isn’t one of those ever venturing outside.

It’s something that just happened. When they first found the farm in Craig Point after over two months of aimless wandering all over West Virginia, Rick was too weak to do much of anything. The infection started spreading from his badly-healed stump which he kept re-injuring on the road and stubbornly refused to have looked at. By the time they set up camp in the old barn on the outskirts of the farm, it was unclear whether Rick would survive the night. By some miracle, the recon group led by Glenn found a medicine cabinet in one of the buildings, and it had some antibiotics which hadn’t gone bad yet. They were enough to stop the infection, but the wound became necrotic and Denise decided to amputate at the elbow. It likely saved Rick’s life, even as it killed his confidence for a long time.

The first weeks of the group’s stay were marked, for Daryl, by constant worry over Rick’s fragile state, so he tried to keep as busy as possible. He organized runs for supplies to the nearby towns and, once those were picked clean, to the outskirts of Roanoke. He helped fix the fences and regularly joined the construction team on the wall they were erecting. He gathered the apples and pears in the orchard with everyone else, and he obviously helped with the renovation on the existing buildings, including the main house. Winter was approaching and Rick was still unwell, so Daryl did everything he could to make this place a home where the man would be safe.

Then spring arrived after a long and dreary winter, and Rick began to get better. His stump finally healed. His psyche got better the longer he was able to stay out of bed, and he eventually started learning to shoot with his left hand. Shoot, and write, and hold a spoon; he had to learn everything from scratch. Obviously he couldn’t go outside the fences when he wasn’t capable of defending himself even from his own baby daughter, so Daryl didn’t even feel he needed to explain why he never asked the man to join the supply teams. 

And then Rick was elected Mayor, which was supposed to be just a figurehead kind of position, but it wasn’t, because of course Rick had to go and take it seriously. It turned out to be a good thing, though, with how it kept the man busy and made him feel that he was actually needed. That what he did contributed to the well-being of their little community. 

The way it all worked out, Daryl didn’t need to find excuses to keep Rick safely behind the walls.

He still doesn’t. It’s nearing the end of their third year here and Rick has settled down. He’s still a protective fuck, no mistakes about it; he bitches about safety precautions, checks the fences and the walls and the gates like, three times a day, and he gets mad whenever someone skips a training session for whatever reason. He doesn’t really  _ say  _ anything, though; instead he makes this face, the most adorably bitchy face Daryl’s ever seen, and he says how disappointed he is or something to that effect. 

He’s doing it all because he cares, because he’s a protective motherfucker who can’t rest easy when someone else is taking a risk. And he’s not exactly happy to be in a position where he asks people to go outside, but he’s unable to take the same risk himself. That’s the quintessence of Rick Grimes, to be honest: he doesn’t seem to care when it’s him almost getting killed, but somebody else suffers a minor injury and he goes batshit crazy with guilt, worry and that noble but infuriating desire to  _ protect. _

That’s precisely why he’s better off stuck back home with the kids, and Daryl finally feels like he can breathe easier. He loved having Rick by his side when they went for supply runs together back at the beginning, of course, because he and Rick understood each other without having to say a word. They worked seamlessly together, and it felt like they were invincible as long as it was the two of them. 

Only, that was not the case. They were together when the group was ambushed by Negan’s men, and that one encounter taught Daryl better than anything else that there’s no such thing as invulnerability in this world. Rick lost his hand and there was nothing Daryl could’ve done to stop it from happening. 

Maybe he’s being irrational, maybe he’s the one being a crazy over-protective bastard; he doesn’t care. There’s no way he’s letting Rick get hurt like that ever again. If that means he has to keep the man inside the walls forever, he will. He’s not taking any risks.

Daryl takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly.

It must be the middle of September, maybe nearing the end of the month. Truth be told, he hasn’t been paying attention. Carol’s got a calendar she’s been keeping since they first arrived in Alexandria, but time’s more of an estimation nowadays. They lost days, maybe weeks back on the road, going south, then west, then east again, tracing back south, going in circles. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s not like they’ve got any pressing matters to attend to on a certain date. If anything, they go by the farmer’s calendar these days, planting seasons, rainy seasons, harvest seasons. It’s a good rhythm, Daryl thinks. Peaceful. 

He likes that it’s probably September, though. Something about it feels right. Like a puzzle piece falling in its place. 

He stares into the gray pre-dawn sky from his perch in the watchtower, wrapped in three blankets to keep the chill out, and he realizes even before he noticed the first signs of the coming Fall, he already knew it was coming. It’s obvious when he thinks about it. There are new chores waiting for everyone on the farm. Life is about to become busier very soon: there will be wheat to harvest and fruits to pick in the orchard. Carol will be processing the crops together with her team of volunteers, men and women all similarly eager to learn how to bake pies, make jam and pickles. Abraham will be taking out small teams to the woods to gather firewood; they have electricity, but in the winter months, it’s safer to rely on good old-fashion hearths to keep warm and save the electricity for the fence. Solar panels can get snowed-in, days are less windy, and there’s only so much fuel that didn’t go bad left in the world. 

Eugene will probably come up with one or two of his genius-level ideas for improvements. He’s come a long way from the cowardly lying git he started out as; obviously, he prefers to stay within the walls, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do his fair share of work. He goes out to the fields like everyone else, he helps with repairs and construction of new buildings. He has these tidbits of information from the old world, normally useless stuff he read somewhere that turns out invaluable in this new world they’re living in. This summer, he basically re-invented penicillin, and last year he came up with a surprisingly efficient way to insulate the chicken coops that didn’t involve any fire hazards. Who knows what other amazing shit he’s gonna come up with. Daryl’s looking forward to it.

He’s looking forward to many things, and it’s… so strange, honestly. To be at a point of life when he can actually look forward to stuff. It certainly wasn’t like that before the dead started walking, not for him at least; and after, it was always just about surviving another day. Right now, though, staring into the distance with not a single walker in sight, Daryl realizes he can allow himself to think about the future. Because he has one.

He has a future with Rick. 

It’s only been a couple of weeks since that time Rick kissed him in the storm. A couple weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. It’s difficult to imagine a time when the two of them weren’t together. In a way, they’ve been together from the start, from the day they met in that quarry outside of Atlanta. What they have, this bond, it changed over time, from a tentative friendship to brotherhood to… this, whatever this is. Love? Maybe, but for Daryl, it was always love from the beginning. Even if Rick never decided to cross this line from platonic to  _ not, _ to Daryl, it would be the same. He’d loved Rick from the sidelines for years. Watched his back and wished him the best even as Rick went into on-and-off relationships with women. He could’ve loved him like that for the rest of their lives, and it would’ve been fine as long as Rick found his happiness.

He’s glad he doesn’t have to, though. He’s glad he’s going to go home right after his shift ends, to the house he shares with Rick, Lil’ Ass-kicker, Carl and Enid. He’s going to check on the kids, though, God help them all, Carl’s not really a kid anymore; then he’s going to go upstairs and slip into bed next to Rick, and of course Rick will wake up. He’ll wake up because it’s been years since anyone was able to sleep so deeply as to not be disturbed by sudden movement. So, without a doubt, Rick will wake up and mumble something about checking on the chickens, but Daryl will wrap him in his arms, and they’ll fall asleep together for a few more hours before either of them is needed elsewhere. 

Or they won’t sleep, just cuddle and talk about whatever in soft whispers. Maybe trade a few kisses. Maybe not. It’s… not that important. Physical love, it’s not something Daryl really needs to be happy. He’d like to do things like that with Rick, but he knows Rick isn’t… well. He’s not into men. At least, he never used to be before, so there’s no reason to believe he’d want to do anything like that with Daryl even if they are sort of together now. And it’s fine. Daryl’s right hand is plenty enough, he can take care of any inappropriate desires by himself. He’s not a teenager anyway, hasn’t been for decades, he knows how to control himself. Rick doesn’t have to deal with any of it. They can just kiss and cuddle, and Daryl’s never going to complain because it’s already more than he ever thought he would have.

It would be nice, though. To touch Rick, to be touched in return; to lead those kisses they share somewhere further. It’s not that Daryl is particularly experienced in these matters. He’s had a few one-night stands back when he was young and brave, but nothing meaningful; still, he thinks he could show Rick how nice sex could be with a man. It’s just a fantasy though. Rick’s not interested in that, so Daryl’s left with naughty ideas he won’t ever mention out loud, and it’s really okay.

He’s still gonna cuddle the fuck out of the man, though. Nothing wrong with that.

“Yo, Dixon, you awake up there?” Jesus calls from the lower level. He’s sneaky when he wants to be, but the way he climbs the ladder to the watchtower is quite obnoxiously loud. It’s intentional, of course. This way, he makes sure whoever’s on guard duty actually wakes up in the event that they’ve fallen asleep.

Daryl has never fallen asleep during guard duty. Jesus knows this, but he’s being a dick.

“Will ya shut it?” Daryl growls when the younger man joins him on the top level. “I swear man, yer hollerin’ is gonna bring all ‘em dead bastards down here for a party one day.”

“If it does, I’m sure some folks will be ecstatic. They think it’s boring to shoot nothing but motionless bottles for training,” Jesus replies with a shrug. “How was the night? Anything interesting happened?”

“Nah. Weather’s gettin’ colder, though. Gotta make sure everyone’s got proper clothes for the winter.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry, we’ve got tons of sweaters in storage. Carol had me count them like two weeks ago. I still can’t get the smell of lavender out of my hair. Well, off you go, man. I’m sure you’d rather go to sleep than chat about the weather.”

That much is true, so Daryl pats Jesus on the shoulder in a friendly manner and heads back. He takes the horse Jesus rode here, a brown filly named Celia. He’d walk, but even on a horse, it’s a good half hour ride from the outer wall to the house and frankly, he’s tired. 

With a sigh, he decides he’s getting old if he’s really so tired after just a few hours of night watch. Well, he is nearing fifty; maybe it’s time he took a break?

Nah.

The way home leads past the orchard, so Daryl makes a short stop to grab a few apples. He feeds one to Celia, and the damn filly tries to sniff for more. She’s a glutton. No wonder though, these apples are really good. Sour and sweet, very juicy. Some of the best Daryl’s had. Lil Ass-kicker loves them with her oatmeal for breakfast, and they’re good for a snack, and maybe Rick will like baked apples later. He’s a fan of sweet fruits. Peaches are his favorite, but he’ll eat apples, pears and plums just as eagerly. 

Daryl likes feeding him, to be honest. He feels strangely accomplished when he sees Rick enjoying a meal or a treat. It might be because the man used to put himself last when it came to food, back when they all had to ration what they had. He’d give away his share, eat only when it was absolutely necessary. Here, in Craig Point, Rick finally has full-sized meals like everyone else, and he doesn’t look so damn guilty when he enjoys an apple pie. 

This place is good for them. Unlike in Alexandria, the safety they found here is real. It’s protected by the mountainous area. The late Craig County only had one city which was tiny, and it’s the closest place to civilization around here. Roanoke… whatever happened down there when it all began, Daryl isn’t sure, but the city itself is mostly gone. Must’ve been some sort of bomb that went off. Hardly any walkers in the area, even less living people. Those who joined the original group on the farm were mostly recruited during runs which spanned weeks. Nobody comes up here. Apparently, people don’t think it’s worth it, and that works out just perfectly.

Taking Celia back to the stables and cleaning her takes some time, so it’s no surprise Rick is already awake but still in bed by the time Daryl joins him in their upstairs bedroom. He smiles lazily in greeting, and Daryl finds himself smiling right back. 

“Morning, darlin’,” Rick says in a voice that’s still a little hoarse with sleep. He must’ve woken up very recently.

“Mornin’,” Daryl replies softly. He walks up to the bed to kiss Rick hello; he planned to kiss his cheek, but Rick turns so that the kiss lands on his lips instead. It’s supposed to be a quick, chaste peck, but then Rick pulls Daryl down, wraps his one arm around Daryl’s waist and deepens the kiss, and who is Daryl to deny his man what they both want? What’s interesting though is that Rick’s mouth tastes of mint, which means he already brushed his teeth, so he must have deliberately got out of bed, washed up and returned just to wait for Daryl.

Fuck, but that makes Daryl melt a little on the inside. 

“Mmm, I missed you last night,” Rick murmurs against his lips after he has to break the kiss to breathe.

Daryl chuckles. “Don’cha be so dramatic, ‘s only been a coupla hours,” he reasons. “Why ya up so early anyways?”

“To say hello,” Rick replies in a tone that makes it clear he thinks the answer is obvious.

He shifts on the bed to make space for Daryl, and Daryl knows he should probably change into fresh clothes, even take a shower, but screw it, it’s not like he was rolling around in walker guts all day or something. He kicks off his shoes, climbs into bed beside Rick and shuffles around in the sheets until he finds a position he likes. Rick waits until he settles before moving closer, and Daryl opens his arms to accommodate the man. 

They fit together like they were made for each other, no matter how sappy the sentiment sounds in Daryl’s head. How else could he explain the fact that he’s never been as comfortable as when Rick is pressed firmly against his side, Rick’s stubbly jaw is resting on his shoulder, and Rick’s warm breath caresses his neck and jaw in slow, steady puffs of air? In moments like this, it feels like the world outside is muted, all problems and pressing matters dulled down to fade in the background. There’s only Rick, and there’s only Daryl, and they’re together, barely awake in the early hours before dawn. 

“Summer’s really ending, isn’t it?” Rick asks after a few moments of just resting together in silence.

Daryl hums softly. “Must be,” he agrees. “Why? Don’t like the Fall?”

“Oh, I do. It’s my favorite season, I guess,” Rick says, shifting even closer. “Just wondering… Maybe next year we can get some pumpkins.”

Daryl chuckles even as he’s already making a mental note to look for some pumpkin seeds on the next scavenging run. Ridiculous or not, it seems he’s not able to say no to anything Rick comes up with. 

“What, for Halloween?” He asks thoughtfully. They haven’t had the opportunity to celebrate any of the old world holidays in a long time. To him, they were all just normal days, bleak and dragging as any other, but he knows the others probably miss the happy times. Maybe Rick’s idea isn’t so ridiculous after all. Some things from before might be worth bringing back.

“Mmm,” Rick says. “Also for eating. Pumpkins are pretty versatile. But yeah, for Halloween too. I mean, Judith will be big enough for trick-or-treating. Carl and Enid will probably pass on costumes though, you know, they’re soooo grown-up now with a baby on the way… Still can’t believe it, to be honest.”

“Yeah,” Daryl mutters, shaking his head. “Boy was just this tall last time I looked. All he talked ‘bout was comic books. Now look at him. He’s a proper man.”

“He’s seventeen, hardly a man,” Rick protests weakly. “He’s still just a kid to me.”

“With his own kid comin’ soon,” Daryl reminds him gently. He understands why Rick’s in denial, but the fact is, Carl has grown up faster than he probably would’ve in the old world. And it’s not even completely a bad thing. It’s not like the kid changed into someone else. He’s still the same lil’ guy Daryl met at the beginning of all this, with a crooked smile like his dad’s and a stubborn attitude like his mom’s. He still goes red in the face when he’s angry, he still refuses to eat zucchini, he still asks hundreds of questions when he finds a new topic to obsess about. Only, he’s not a little boy anymore, and he can take care of himself. 

It’s still hard to let him go and be his own man, even though he’s not really Daryl’s son. Daryl can only imagine how hard it has to be for Rick. 

“You know, I didn’t think I’d become a grandpa so young,” Rick says, and sighs. “Though I guess my hair’s going so gray to catch up with the times. I’ve half a mind to find a hair dye.”

“Meh, I like it like this,” Daryl confesses. “Like yer curls, and the beard when ya let it grow out. Gray or not, yer pretty and ya know it, Grimes.”

Rick laughs, and his breathy laughter feels nice against Daryl’s skin. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he says. “Michonne thinks I should exercise more. I think she’s calling me fat.”

“Nonsense,” Daryl huffs and, as if to make a point, he pokes Rick in the ribs. Definitely not fat, though thankfully, the man’s no longer skin and bones like when they first arrived. He’s warm and firm and alive. 

Because he knows he can get away with this kind of playful touching, Daryl gently tickles up and down Rick’s side, smiling when the man giggles and tries to squirm out of his embrace. 

“No, stop it,” Rick demands between soft chuckles, and attempts to catch Daryl’s hand. Daryl grabs him by the wrist and pulls, and Rick ends up sprawled on top of him, laughing in small soundless huffs.

“Mmm, yeah, I like this,” Daryl decides with a satisfied smile. “Ya can be my new blanket. Yer certainly warm enough.”

“I gotta get up soon though,” Rick protests half-heartedly. He doesn’t move though, apparently too content to change position. He’s been two-thirds of the way to falling back asleep this whole time, so it’s no wonder that he’s not very eager to rise and shine just yet.

Daryl kisses him on the tip of the nose and then on the lips, just because he can. It’s so amazing to be able to just kiss Rick whenever. He’s wanted this for years and now he actually has it, and there’s nothing, not a single thing in the world that would make him happier than having this man in his arms. If this is how he gets to die, many years from now when they’re both old, gray and wrinkled; if his end is just falling into slumber together with the man he loves, then he’ll die happy. 

But that won’t be for a long time yet. For once, Daryl believes everything is going to be alright. Their family is safe. This harvest season will be good. Carl and Enid’s baby will be born in winter, and he or she will grow up with Judith, RJ and all the other kids in a world where danger doesn’t lurk in every corner. There will be many more Septembers in Craig Point.

Outside, the sun rises slowly and another day begins. Daryl falls asleep to the soft sound of Rick’s snoring, and he dreams of falling leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> I know people are waiting for the Sharks, but please don't ask me when it's coming. Just know it is coming, sometime soon. Asking about it will not make me write faster; it will only add to the guilt and pressure I'm already feeling about this ridiculously long delay.
> 
> As always, you can come shout at me (just not about Sharks, please) on my Tumblr at most--curiously--blue--eyes!


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